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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25921363">i can't feel your voice</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/daturacatboy/pseuds/daturacatboy'>daturacatboy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>RvB Non-Canonical Deaths [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Red vs. Blue</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Character Death, Frostbite, Gen, Hypothermia, No idea why I wrote this</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:48:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,371</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25921363</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/daturacatboy/pseuds/daturacatboy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe his vision was near completely white because of the snow. Maybe it was because he was about to pass out. Maybe it was both.</p><p>Or, Wash experiences hypothermia.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Franklin Delano Donut &amp; Agent Washington</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>RvB Non-Canonical Deaths [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1920472</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>i can't feel your voice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Not sure why, I just had the sudden urge to write death by hypothermia. And since i just love torturing my favorite characters, Wash was first on my list.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Maybe his vision was near completely white because of the snow. Maybe it was because he was about to pass out. Maybe it was both.</p><p>There was no noise, other than the constant, aggressive howling of the wind, and the occasional shudder that escaped him. His senses were fading. It was getting difficult to hear the wind despite it surrounding him, threatening to trap him though he was already imprisoned. Getting difficult to see, to <em>feel.</em> Most of what he saw was a blur, and though it was dull, the brightness from the snow burned his eyes- a force so cold causing a discomforting warmth. But fuck, warmth was all he needed right now.</p><p>He could hardly see his hands, though when he looked down at them they were more like blobs of skin with patches of blue, black, and yellow- his torn gloves, maybe. Something- something tore, he knew, but what it was, he had no idea. The parts of his hands that were covered, they were colder than the exposed parts, but the exposed parts still had strange, dark patches. God, why was it so cold, where the hell was he, how did he get here- how long had he been there? His memory- the last thing he can remember was a face, he couldn't pinpoint the name, but it reminded him of... the color pink? That- that might not make sense, it might not be right. Something, hole, something, and then he was here and <em>why was it so fucking cold? </em>Snow- snow's cold, duh.</p><p>Breathing hurt. Not like he could feel it much- but taking in the cold air, it stung his lips, his mouth, throat and lungs, everything. And the sensation of breathing it out, disturbingly warm, and the entire process was weird and painful. There was also a slow thumping. There were long spaces in between them, but every time it happens it felt like something crawling through his body, and that feeling was both frigid and searing, too. What was it? He didn't know.</p><p>Actually- who was <em>he?</em> Every time he tried to remember, only three things came to mind.</p><p>The first was of a little girl, maybe around six years of age, with long, blonde hair. And whenever he tried to figure out who she was, he was reminded of another girl, a much similar face, but older and with red hair, along with a state. He didn't even know which state, just one East of the U.S.</p><p>The second, some sort of surgery followed by excessive amounts of pain and shrieking, and fear. And a man- or hologram, or something, he was blue. Talking to him, trying to calm him down despite trying to... do something bad to himself while sobbing. And lots of flashes of... <em>something, </em>things he couldn't decide were his or someone else's.</p><p>And the last one was an image of a ship of some sorts, maybe, along with lots of sky and more cold, and someone shouting, a familiar face reaching out a hand towards him, sobbing.</p><p>
  <em>Wash!</em>
</p><p>Wash what, your hands? That didn't make sense, everyone knows that. Fucking focus- why would someone yell that? It's too hard to think, to focus on remembering. Why did he need to remember again? Maybe to get away from the cold, but he could just- oh. The snow, the snow was warm. But there was something else with it, lots of- lots of red. Snow isn't red. Maybe.</p><p>Eventually, he stopped shivering. Eventually, it stopped being cold. And eventually, it started warming up. It took a long time though- or maybe it did, he couldn't really tell. It was strange, the heat, though achingly slowly, was beginning to grow unbearable. He wanted to take off his armor. He also knew that wasn't smart, but holy shit, he didn't care and was desperate. But- it hurt to even move. To even think. It'd be nice to just go to sleep at this point, maybe things would be better when he woke up.</p><p>No. No, he can't stop here. Whoever was reaching out for him, the pink person who's face he just couldn't remember for some reason, maybe they'll come to help. Take him out of the cold, bring him to wherever they were before this, take them somewhere <em>not here</em>. But the soft, white snow that's pressed up against his face, it's just... so comfortable. Sleeping sounds nice. Wonderful, actually. It welcomed him with wide, open arms that offered to hold him close and never let go. And he was more than willing to allow it, to let it encase him, cool him down, and let him rest.</p><p>But there was something threatening about it that he couldn't quite place. Some sort of misplacement, or a loss of something- he didn't know if it had a name, but once it took you, there was no coming back. He remembers doing this to- lots of people, actually. He remembers doing it to three- four people recently, yeah. He wasn't sure how long ago, though, three of them maybe about a year ago and one of them... much too recently. Except none of them were fully human, or maybe they weren't human at all. Or- or maybe some parts of them were human, or they were human at some point but got a different kind of "lost with no return," he still couldn't remember. He felt bad for causing the loss, because something deep inside him had a connection with... two of them, maybe, before.</p><p>Oh, and there were some other people. They didn't get lost though.</p><p>The fourth person, however, he didn't really care for. The red-head state lady, the other people, and him got him lost together. And now he was here, he can't stop thinking about pink and it's starting to sicken him. And it almost hurts. And now it's so drilled into his mind that there's a small dot of pink in front of him. The dot is growing, and growing, and now there's a voice yelling "wash" but he doesn't know why, and something just touched him and <em>it burns so fucking bad he hisses and tries to pull back, </em>but god he can't fucking move for some reason.</p><p>The pink dot reaches out to him, and he can feel a protest escape his lips but he can't tell what he said nor does he care. He just continues to bury himself into the snow, and it feels so nice, the snow is nice and welcoming and the pink dot- who was now a giant pink blob- is trying to take that away from him. But he won't let it, because this is the best he's felt in a long time and all he wants to do is sleep right now.</p><p>His mouth was moving of its own accord, though quite honestly it was more like slight twitches. A rumbling in his neck, as well, and it made him extremely uncomfortable and he just wanted it to stop. Not only that, but the pink blob now has its arms around him and it was burning his skin, he felt like his skin was now covered in burns and blisters, pins and needles, and the rumbling in his neck grew ten-fold so now it was in his chest, too.</p><p>And he's slowly being torn away from his sanctuary, the scalding pinkness worsening and now he's so hot, too hot, he's boiling by now. His vision started going dark, but bright at the same time, until all he's seeing is a weird mix of light and dark and they're clashing together in a way that gives him a horrible headache.</p><p>The last thing he hears before he completely loses his vision, completely loses all the feeling in his body, the vibrations, the thumping, is a word so familiar to him. But it was filled with resentment and hatred as it was spat out, the strength of the venom nearly making him cringe but he wasn't able to feel. It was as if all negativity that had built up in a single entity over the span of 38 years was all carried and coughed up into that single word.</p><p>"Pastry..."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay, gonna quickly clarify, the takes place between S10 and S11, an alternate universe where they go back to Valhalla but Wash falls out of the ship and lands in Sidewinder. How does this happen? I don't fucking know.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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